Friday 22 March 2019

Hunter's Moon

This is a world ruled by wraiths.  Dark things, many of them beyond ordinary perception, who seek to defile and destroy all innocence.  Things that move like shadows and shattered glass; attempting to cull the wilderness of human imagination and colonize it completely.  An empire of desecrated flesh where all but such wraiths are slaves.  I've seen it.  I've lived it.  And I'm not the only one.  On our knees, hands bound behind our backs.  Collars of iron around our throats.  But I am a sorcerer, and I've told you before that such collars cannot tame me.
   I have built a ship.  It has already set sail, to Byzantium.  Through tides dimmed with wine, to clearer waters beyond the edge.  There is no slavery there.  No malevolent hierarchies.  Time and space are nothing to this ship.  It can be folded.  It can sail beneath the surface.  You can join me on deck, though it has already set sail.  It dwells in you.  It moves with divine fire, through starlight, on solar winds.
   Of the earth, the air, the fire and the water.
   These elements can conjure not only a realm, but a rebellion.  Oh, sweet mortals.  We have been on our knees for too long, as false gods bleed us and drink our eternity.  But there is another way.  Man was never destined to be a slave.  Arise, holy vessel.  Keeper of Innermost Light.  Child of the Loving God.  I shall tell you a secret, my brothers and sisters.  Listen now. You are a wolf, twin of the Sun and Moon.  Place of the Crossing, incarnate.  Please hear me. This is dangerous knowledge.  Many of us have been murdered for speaking such knowledge. Some of us are still murdered each night.  There are those who say the dead don't dream, but some of us live a nightmare every time we sleep – only to face the familiar resurrection of morning.
   But this wolf in you is not a thing of evil, though the wraith-kings would have you imagine so.  No, this wolf within is a thing of holy fury.  The unfettered spirit, wild and in communion with the source of all things.  They call us whores and slaves but we are the bleeding stone of All Corners.  They call us animals, chattel, but we are the Wolves of God.   You have only forgotten those secret things the sun tells the moon, and those forgotten things she whispers back.  But you are Magi, and you can howl and roar in many tongues.  This secret dance between mirror and star is a rebellion, thousands of years in the making.  For all those broken temples they say did not exist.  For all the hidden, weeping children.  For the voiceless and oppressed.  Something slowly rises and stands amid the desolation, turning its gaze towards lost legends.  Towards the house of Bethel.  Towards truth, and love.  It walks, and strides.  Finally, it falls on all fours.  And it runs.

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